


Check Hook

by feathers_and_cigarettes



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel, Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Edging, Enthusastic Consent, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fratt - Freeform, Goddammit There's Feelings In My Porn Again, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, M/M, Matt Is A Stubborn Bastard, Mild Breathplay, Power Play, Quarantine, Should Probably Have Just Tied Matt To A Chair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:20:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23568220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feathers_and_cigarettes/pseuds/feathers_and_cigarettes
Summary: “Shelter in place means exactly that, Red. Sit the fuck down, take your fuckin’ pants off, and listen to your goddamned podcasts.”In which Frank is stuck in Matt's apartment for weeks during a global pandemic and Matt just can't stop trying to be an idiot. Thankfully, Frank can improvise pretty well.
Relationships: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock
Comments: 16
Kudos: 243





	Check Hook

**Author's Note:**

> I asked the BDB Discord server who would be the most annoying Marvel hero to be stuck in quarantine with and Matt was at the top of the list. I can't really disagree. This happened. Yell at me for it.

“Shelter in place means exactly that, Red. Sit the fuck down, take your fuckin’ pants off, and listen to your goddamned podcasts.”

Matt paces back and forth in front of the massive window, his head tilted toward the pane with an anguished look on his face. He’s still wearing his goddamned tie even though it’s been about two hours since NYC was put on lockdown.

The news isn’t a surprise; Frank’s been expecting it for the past few days as the numbers of the infected continue to rise and people continue to be idiots and go out for dinner parties and cluster together in the streets. He’s been carefully stocking up on food, stowing provisions and various weapons in Matt’s apartment in preparation – God knew Matt would likely starve if kept in quarantine for two weeks; either that or get scurvy from all the takeout.

Though really, he’d expected Red to be productive and attempt to work from home for at least the first day or two. It’s been two hours and the asshole won’t even settle, instead wearing a tread in the floor with his restless pacing.

“Red.”

“What if there’s looting?” Matt asks, his brow furrowed behind his red sunglasses. “I should be out there, Frank.”

On Matt’s next pass by the couch, Frank reaches out and loops an arm around his waist. “It’s been two hours and it ain’t your job to control looters during a pandemic. If you go out there and get sick, what the fuck are you gonna do, huh?”

Matt wriggles out of Frank’s grasp, but at least slumps into the armchair, his suit jacket rumpling up behind him. “People are going to get hurt, Frank. It may not be bad now, but what happens when the supply chains start to falter?”

Frank rubs his hands over his face, CDC warnings be damned. “You can’t help anyone if you get sick,” he says with a sigh. “And what if you spread it to someone, huh? Get some little old Granny sick because you couldn’t resist goin’ out and beating the snot out of bad guys in your PJs?”

That gets him, just a little bit. Matt’s jaw squares and his entire body goes still, his back straightening just a little bit. Good ol’ Catholic guilt.

Taking advantage of Matt’s pause, Frank gets to his feet, trying to mimic that effortless swagger that Matt usually has, but probably failing miserably in his sweats and USMC t-shirt. He swings a leg over Matt’s lap and runs his fingers through Matt’s tie, tugging him forward just a little bit.

“Are you trying to seduce me?” There’s a hint of amusement in Matt’s voice that Frank decides not to be discouraged by. Even if he _is_ spectacularly bad at this, at least it’s keeping Red focused forward instead of stubbornly insisting on going out.

“If it keeps you inside, yeah,” Frank replies with a grin, undoing the knot at Matt’s throat and letting his fingers brush over the man’s skin. “Don’t fight it, just savour it, ‘cause I’m never gonna do this again.”

Matt tilts his head, his breath ghosting just under Frank’s jaw. God bless enhanced senses. Frank can feel him hardening through his suit pants and he grinds down _just_ enough to make Matt hiss.

Strong hands slide up Frank’s thighs to his hips. “Surprised you’re taking this so seriously yourself,” Matt murmurs, brushing his lips over Frank’s pulse point. “Figured you’d be jumping at the chance to go after people who’d take advantage of a crisis.”

Arousal’s sparking through Frank’s veins now, the contrast of Matt’s iron grip with the gentle touch of his lips driving him up the wall. “Ain’t gonna risk innocent people, Red, c’mon. You know me better than that.” And if he somehow carried the disease to Matt and something happened… it went unsaid Frank would never forgive himself.

Matt hums, hopefully in agreement, after these years. His fingers dip just below Frank’s sweatpants and dance along his hipbones. “There’s going to be panic,” he rumbles, voice pitching an octave lower as he nuzzles Frank’s throat.

“And we’re gonna stay here and let the Avengers or whomever is immune deal with it,” Frank says into Matt’s hair, running his fingers through the auburn strands and tugging gently. “For once in your goddamned life, be cautious. Please.”

“Only because you asked so nicely.” Matt’s voice is a low growl as he tugs Frank’s head down to capture his lips in a bruising kiss. “I should probably get a game plan with Foggy but I can free myself up for twenty minutes or so.”

Frank snorts and rubs the heel of his hand over the front of Matt’s pants, gently massaging the hardness there. He takes advantage of Matt’s throaty moan to take control of the kiss, forcing Matt’s head back and licking into his mouth. “If I’m gonna put all this effort into seducin’ you, you’re giving me more than twenty goddamned minutes, asshole,” he grumbles as he pulls back just enough to breathe.

“Twenty-five minutes,” Matt says, rocking his hips up into Frank’s hand in slow circles. “I’ll throw in a blowjob.”

“How considerate,” Frank mutters, trying to keep his head straight as Matt’s taste and scent threatens to overwhelm him. “I’m pretty sure I’m the one who usually lasts the longest though; you sure the five ain’t for you?”

Matt sucks in a breath as Frank pops the button on the expensive suit pants and dips his hand in, squeezing Matt’s dick through the silk boxers.

“Y’know, I’ve been wanting to see how long you can really hold out,” Frank whispers into Matt’s ear, suppressing his own shudder of delight as Matt writhes beneath him. “See how close I push you with those super senses of yours without you coming.”

“Bastard,” Matt retorts weakly, his head falling back as Frank nips at the shell of his ear.

He’s not wrong; after all, the goal is to keep Matt occupied for as long as possible so Frank’s not tying him to furniture to prevent him from going outdoors, but who says they can’t have a little fun with it?

“Y’know, I’ve seen you come twice a couple times,” Frank says conversationally, keeping his touch light, “but I don’t think I’ve seen you come three times before? You think your fancy senses can make you do that, Red?”

Matt’s breathing quickens, his fingers tightening on Frank’s hips. “Did when I was younger,” he replies, turning his head to try to capture Frank’s mouth again and huffing in frustration when Frank evades him. “It’s just easier for me to get hard again and I get kind of overloaded.”

Perfect. Frank’s seen first hand how overstimulated Matt gets after orgasm – especially after two – and he bets if he even attempts three it would give him a few hours of endorphin-drunk Matt. He’ll need a bit more than twenty minutes though.

He grins against Matt’s cheek, knowing how much it drives the man nuts to feel him smile. Pressing his thumb against the damp spot beginning to soak through Matt’s boxers, Frank leans into him, letting him feel his weight and body heat. “You ever come so hard you black out, Red?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

That gets him. Matt lets out an animalistic noise and hauls Frank as close as he can get, his nails biting into Frank’s skin at his hips. He twists in Frank’s grasp to bite at Frank’s lips, his hips bucking up to get as much friction as possible.

Frank grunts at the sudden ferocity, the slight pain spiking his own pleasure. He twists his hand into the front of Matt’s shirt, forcing him back into the chair and sitting up straighter, out of Matt’s reach. “Uh-uh,” he scolds. “We go at my pace or I leave you here with a boner and blue balls; got that?”

Matt has never liked being told what to do, and as far as Frank can tell, that extends to sex as well. His eyes narrow behind his glasses and he opens his mouth, his protest turning into a strangled growl when Frank gives his tie a quick jerk.

“Asked you a question.”

The look Matt gives him is a delicious mix of fury and arousal, the tendons in his neck standing out as he pulls back against the tie. Frank wants to bite at them until Matt screams his name, but he holds himself back, waiting patiently.

“Once,” Matt bites out, shifting under Frank and trying to hook his leg around Frank’s calf. It’s a move Frank’s pretty intimately familiar with and he twists the tie harder and gives Matt’s cock a squeeze through his boxers to prevent being flipped over. “College.”

Frank pulses his hand lightly around Matt’s dick and adjusts his grip on Matt’s tie so he can press his forearm against Matt’s throat to keep him in place. He’s careful to keep his movements slow, keeping up constant contact so Matt can follow what he’s doing. This is new territory for them both: Frank’s usually happy to just bring his partner pleasure by any means necessary, which means he’s content to just follow Matt’s lead; up until now, Matt’s never chosen to take a submissive or vulnerable position. Sure, they fight it out in the bedroom a lot, but it’s always Matt that ends up in control when the situation calls for it.

He can feel Matt’s hesitation, his entire body taut like a bowstring under Frank’s. The energy between them is a palpable thing and Frank wonders what it feels like to Matt, who’s able to hear their heartbeats and blood pumping through their veins, to smell the pheromones in the air and the scent of their arousal. It’s gotta be intoxicating, to say nothing of Matt’s enhanced sense of touch.

“You trust me, Red?” Frank asks softly, nuzzling Matt’s hair and keeping pressure on his throat. They’re either gonna fight this one out or something’s going to shift a bit in their dynamic – either way, Frank’s happy – but he really wants the opportunity to take Matt apart.

Matt doesn’t answer for a long moment, his chest heaving and hips jerking sporadically. Trust doesn’t come easily to either one of them, so Frank gets it, gets that he’s asking a lot of Matt, but it’s suddenly important to know where they stand, especially during quarantine.

Finally, Matt’s hand releases its steely grip on Frank’s hip. He removes his sunglasses and sets them carefully down on the side table next to the chair. Clouded blue eyes fixate around Frank’s chin and he tilts his head back in silent permission.

“Yes,” Matt rasps, swallowing heavily against Frank’s forearm.

Frank’s never seen Matt surrender before and it nearly takes his breath away. He kisses Matt gently, pouring everything he can’t say into it, showing his appreciation with his lips and tongue. His hand moves slowly again, circling the head of Matt’s cock with his thumb through the thin silk.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Frank says, pressing a kiss just above each of Matt’s eyes and resting their foreheads together.

Matt snorts lightly, his hands moving again, dipping into Frank’s sweats to palm his ass. “I don’t tap out.”

No surprise there, the contrary bastard. Frank rolls his eyes affectionately and unbuttons the top few buttons of Matt’s shirt, tugging the tie out of the way just enough so he can access the tanned skin beneath. He notes Matt’s small sound of disappointment when he moves his forearm off Matt’s throat, filing the noise away for later.

Catching Matt’s earlobe in his teeth, Frank sets to work, putting every bit of his single-minded determination into making Matt Murdock forget his own goddamned name.

The noises Matt makes as Frank bites and sucks his way down his jaw are downright sinful, needy little gasps and growled curses that go straight to Frank’s dick. Matt’s hands clench into Frank’s ass, pulling him as close as Frank will let him, kneading the flesh until Frank’s just as hard as he is.

Frank’s hands tangle in Matt’s hair, tugging firmly and pulling his head back to expose his neck. He sucks a bruise into Matt’s pulse point, worrying the skin with his teeth until Matt’s keening under him. Pulling back to examine his handiwork, he grins and licks the reddened mark, feeling like a teenager again and relieved they’ve got at least two weeks before Matt’ll be expected to be presentable in public again.

He massages Matt’s cock through his underwear with the heel of his hand, trying to keep him from getting overstimulated too quickly and kissing and mouthing every inch of exposed skin he can reach before he pops another button on Matt’s shirt.

Matt’s an impatient sonofabitch though, in every aspect of his life, and sex is no different. He’s barely holding himself back, making feral little noises and trying to push Frank’s sweats off his hips.

Shithead can’t give up control. Frank grunts, sinks his teeth into Matt’s collarbone, and slots his free hand against Matt’s throat, pressing just hard enough for those noises to become a little strained. Matt’s pulse is wild under Frank’s hand and his cock twitches hard enough that Frank’s momentarily worried he’s pushed him over the edge too fast.

Frank’s going to have finger-shaped bruises on his hips for days at this rate, and he releases his ministrations on Matt’s cock long enough to bat away wandering hands from his own. “No,” he growls, punctuating with a harder squeeze to Matt’s throat. “That’s not for you to worry about right now.”

Matt, the defiant little shit, makes another move toward Frank’s cock and Frank presses his palm into Matt’s windpipe hard enough that he’s gasping, tears beading at the corners of his eyes. He bucks his hips wildly, tilts his head back to try to relieve the pressure and Frank lets up a fraction, just enough for him to get the necessary amount of oxygen.

“You like this,” Frank murmurs, not entirely surprised and certainly not judging. He squeezes Matt’s throat again, slowly increasing the pressure and dips his other hand into Matt’s boxers, feeling the hard flesh jump and pulse in his grip.

Grinning, Frank noses Matt’s shirt open wider and sucks a nipple into his mouth, grazing the pebbled flesh with his teeth. He can’t lose himself _too_ much - he’s keeping an eye on Matt’s breathing because it _would_ be like the fucker to pass out before he tapped out - but he’s always been more of a giver than receiver in bed. Nothing turns him on more than making his partner feel good.

Matt’s cock is leaking steadily now, enough to slick Frank’s palm as he strokes him properly, thumb swiping over the head on the upstroke. He keeps a steady pace, pausing only to push Matt’s boxers and pants open a little more or unbutton more of Matt’s shirt.

By the time Frank’s moved onto Matt’s second nipple, Matt’s more or less given up fighting the hand at his throat. He’s released Frank’s hips, moving up the old t-shirt to claw at Frank’s back, his nimble fingers finding every scar. His throat works under Frank’s hand, occasionally growling out mindless noises and whimpers.

It’s a beautiful look on Red, Frank has to admit as he sits back. Matt’s auburn hair is sweat soaked and messy, sticking to his forehead and curling a little around his ears. His eyes are half lidded, those long lashes glistening with the tears that’re gathering at the corners every time Frank adds more pressure to his throat. Dark red marks bloom under his jaw, down his throat, across his upper chest and Frank feels a thrill rush through his spine as he admires his handiwork.

Matt grins, that twist of his lips with a hint of teeth, his _real_ grin, not the professional smile he uses with clients or the pseudo-innocent one he uses with the public. Frank’s fallen hard for that smile, that shit-eating, devil-may-care grin that drives him up a wall in an entirely different way now. Bastard can probably feel Frank’s arousal or smell it or whatever it is the fuck he can do.

Frank rubs Matt’s stubbled jaw with his thumb, smiles back, and increases the pressure around Matt’s throat until the man’s moaning and jerking his hips upward in search of Frank’s other hand, his cock stark red against the black of his suit pants framing it.

Ripping Matt’s shirt the rest of the way open – he’ll feel bad later and sew the buttons back on – Frank pushes the shirt off Matt’s shoulders and lets it rest around his elbows, constricting his movement. He leaves the tie, taps Matt’s leg until he lifts up and lets Frank pull his boxers and pants down to his knees.

Hand still at Matt’s throat, Frank takes another long look and nods. Much better.

He’s back on Matt’s lap in an instant, careful not to let his sweatpants rub too much against Matt’s sensitive cock no matter how much he’d like the friction. The fabric’s too coarse for Matt’s skin and while he wants to drive the man out of his mind, he’d rather not do it through pain. Spitting into his palm, he wraps his fingers around Matt’s dick and restarts his rhythm – less teasing this time, more down to business.

Matt’s eyes are focused on a point just above Frank’s head, half-glazed even for him. His head’s tilted back so he can breathe, his breath coming in needy little gasps. “Frank,” he pants, swallowing heavily, his throat working under Frank’s grip.

Frank lets his lips brush Matt’s, just hovers there out of his reach and squeezes both hands every time Matt tries to find him. The noises Matt’s making are pure music and Frank needs more. He nips at Matt’s lip quickly, slowing his pace on Matt’s cock when he feels his breathing get shallower.

_“Frank,”_ Matt tries again, his voice rough and wrecked, like gravel, like Frank’s own.

“Matthew,” Frank replies with a grin, kissing him quickly, deeply, then pulling back as soon as it’s reciprocated. He slowly drags his hand up Matt’s cock and circles the head with his thumb, sliding it through the fluid collecting at the tip.

The noise Matt makes is strangled, his dick hardening almost impossibly more under Frank’s hand. Abruptly, Frank releases the pressure around Matt’s throat and moves his other hand to grip the base of Matt’s cock tightly. He holds still, barely daring to breathe himself, to let Matt know just how turned on he is.

“You _bastard,”_ Matt groans, his biceps straining as he struggles against the confines of his own shirt. Sweat gathers at his collarbone and Frank takes a second to lick the skin clean. “Fuck you; let me come.”

“Nah,” Frank says with a shrug, biting the inside of his cheek at the glint in Matt’s eye. He leans in, bites Matt’s earlobe, huffs a laugh into his ear. “Said I was gonna make you come so hard you black out. Got a job to do,” he murmurs.

Reasonably convinced Matt’s not about to come anymore, Frank snaps his hand back to Matt’s throat, cutting off any further arguments.

Frank brings him to the edge twice more, the last time nearly too late. He’s rutting his own cock against Matt’s thigh, the inside of his boxer briefs damp and sticking to the tip. The mild discomfort is worth it though – Frank’s never seen Matt so utterly debauched in his life.

He shifts, pushes his sweats and boxer briefs down, pulls his own shirt off, and attacks Matt’s lips, swallowing every gasp and moan and curse. One word, that’s all Frank wants.

Their dicks rub together as Frank grinds his hips into Matt’s, finally feeling skin on heated skin. Matt’s whimpering and keening, bucking up into Frank and occasionally fighting the grip on his throat. He _wants_ Frank to push harder, to squeeze just that little bit more, and Frank understands now. He can’t give up control without a fight.

Frank lets him. Fighting is their common language.

He waits until Matt’s gasping, head tilted back, hips mindlessly working under his own. Taking them both in hand, he strokes them roughly, fighting to hold back his own orgasm. He bites more marks into Matt’s neck, murmuring soft encouragement and praise.

_“Please,_ Frank,” Matt whispers hoarsely, the words punched out of him like it physically pains him. He’s holding Frank as close as he can and Frank’s going to be sporting some new bruises of his own.

“There y’go,” Frank grunts, kissing Matt’s sweaty forehead. His scent is intoxicating, all clean sweat, sharp and masculine. He’s teetering over the edge himself and he pants harshly in Matt’s ear as he comes with a guttural moan over Matt’s cock and abs, the orgasm taking him by surprise.

Matt tilts his head into Frank’s, growling out a strangled whine as Frank’s hand reflexively tightens around his throat. His hands scrabble at Frank’s hips, bucks up twice more before he’s wordlessly shouting, his cock pulsing in Frank’s hand.

Frank kisses him through it, soft brushes of his lips over Matt’s face as he slowly works both of them through the aftershocks. He’s starting to feel sticky and uncomfortable, his lower back aching, but he gently glides his hand up and down Matt’s cock until the man’s gasping and trembling with overstimulation.

“You with me, Red?” he asks softly, releasing Matt’s throat and cock as he finally starts to twitch away. Angry red bruises in the shape of Frank’s hand line Matt’s throat and a thrill of possessive pride runs through him; proof that Matt Murdock _can_ surrender.

Matt makes an intelligible noise, completely boneless in the chair. Not quite the blackout Frank was going for, but it’ll do.

Wiping his hand on the back of the chair, Frank chuckles and nuzzles Matt’s temple, dropping kisses absently and massaging his throat. He takes the opportunity to relax against him – _not_ cuddling – and closes his eyes in contentment.

“I hate you.”

Frank grins and huffs a quiet laugh. “Lying’s a sin,” he replies, finding Matt’s lips with his own and savouring the sluggish response. “You can bring it up in confession when the quarantine’s over.”

Matt makes another noise that could be English, but Frank doesn’t really listen too closely. He helps Matt out of his shirt, gently manoeuvring heavy limbs out of the shirtsleeves and tossing the button down over his shoulder. There’s another noise, pleased this time, and strong arms wrap around Frank’s waist and tug him close.

They lay in comfortable silence for several peaceful minutes.

“Wait, fuck. Quarantine.”

Frank sighs. Bought him an hour at least.

~*~*~*~

A week later, Frank’s convinced his dick has gone on strike. Distracting Red with sex every time he starts to get stupid about going out of the apartment has worked, but it’s worked a little _too_ well, and Frank’s honestly not that creative. He’s running out of ideas and even worse, motivation. The last time he had sex this often in a week he was nineteen and on his first leave from the Marines and was hellbent on making up all the lost time with Maria.

They _have_ managed to be somewhat productive. It only took a shower blowjob to convince Matt to try to work from home, and Foggy and Karen keep him busy for a few hours each day with conference calls. Asshole’s aggressively taken over the couch and coffee table as his new work space, so Frank cleans his guns and meticulously triple checks his inventory at the kitchen island.

Max has taken over the patches of sunlight that stream in from the floor to ceiling windows, but neither Frank nor Matt have argued over that territory.

While Matt’s managed to get some work done, there’s not much he can do to decompress aside from fighting with Frank or fucking him. As a result, Frank’s reconsidering his decision to not buy more lube and debating if tying Matt to a chair would be foreplay or assault.

Frank gets it, he really does. He hasn’t killed anyone in over a week and he _knows_ the drug cartels and the rapist he was stalking haven’t been abiding with the shelter-in-place rule and every time he thinks about it, his trigger finger starts twitching. They’ve both beaten the shit out of the punching bag and gotten into enough shouting matches that the downstairs neighbours have started pounding on the ceiling.

The bruises are still mostly sex-related, at least.

Frank glances up from his book as Matt ends his final client call of the day, the tension evident in the set of his shoulders. He’s finally stopped with the suit and tie every day and today he didn’t bother to change out of his Columbia sweats and fluffy crimson socks. He removes his headset, sets it down on the coffee table, and tilts his head in the direction of the rooftop access.

Oh no. Fuck that.

Getting to his feet, Frank slips behind the couch and kneads the tense muscles of Matt’s shoulders until the man’s slumping forward with a groan.

“I can’t do another week of this, Frank.”

Frank makes what he hopes is a sympathetic noise and decides not to tell him he’s pretty sure the shelter-at-home order’s going to be extended as the virus sweeps through the city.

“I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

“You have to,” Frank murmurs, resting his chin on top of Matt’s head and draping his arms over his shoulders. “I get it, Red, I do. But you gotta stay here.”

Matt’s hand is warm on Frank’s forearm. “How can you stand it, Frank? How can you be so calm?”

Frank sighs and moves around the back of the couch and takes a seat in the armchair. “I can’t,” he says simply, rubbing his hand through his hair. “But there ain’t anyone to fight here. It’s not some war we can win.”

“I just…” Matt trails off, frustrated. He looks lost, helpless, a look Frank’s never seen on him before. His jaw sets, the greenish-yellow bruises still mottling his throat moving as he swallows heavily. “I hear them, Frank. People praying, crying, yelling. I’ve always heard them, but never this _many._ I’ve always been able to do something about it.”

“Some things are out of our control, Red.”

Matt chuckles and rubs the bruises on his throat ruefully. “Yeah, well. We’ve found out I’ve got a control problem.”

“Shit, I knew that way before this,” Frank says with a laugh. “But there are other people out there helpin’, yeah? Let someone else micromanage the shit outta Hell’s Kitchen until it’s safe.”

Matt doesn’t look convinced. He’s got that long-suffering look on his face, the one Frank wants to punch off half the time, but right now just breaks his cold, dead heart a little bit.

Sighing, Frank gets to his feet. “Just don’t, y’know. Be you. Don’t be a martyr, Matt,” he says, clapping Matt on the shoulder as he pads over to the kitchen. “I’ll see what we’ve got that ain’t pasta for dinner.”

They don’t have _much_ that ain’t pasta – Frank was thinking practically rather than culinarily when he was stocking up – but they do have a ton of ground beef in the freezer they’ll need to get through eventually. He grabs the pack he left to thaw in the fridge and sets it on the counter and rummages through what they have left for veggies. A couple hearty burgers should be quick and easy enough and a welcome change of pace from the leftover lasagne and chicken alfredo they’ve eaten all week.

“I worry about you too.”

Frank sighs and pulls out a pan from the cupboard and sets it on the stove. “Don’t add me to your stress, Red. Only time I go outside is to let Max out and I wear a mask and wash my hands. Worry about your clients if you’ve gotta worry about someone. Worry about Nelson; worry about Karen, ‘cause God knows she’s gonna be doin’ something stupid for a story.”

Warmth presses along Frank’s back and strong arms wrap around his waist. Matt hooks his chin over Frank’s shoulder and kisses the side of his neck gently. “I couldn’t do this without you, Frank,” he says quietly.

There’s a lot to that sentence Matt isn’t saying, words between the lines that they both dance around. Frank’s fluent in the language and for a long moment, he doesn’t say anything, can’t say anything. He brings his hand up to tangle in Matt’s hair, stroking slowly, enjoying the solid weight at his back.

“You should probably learn some self control,” Frank teases, scratching lightly at Matt’s scalp.

“Mmm,” Matt hums, sliding his palm under Frank’s t-shirt to lay flat against his stomach, fingertips just brushing his waistband. “It’s never really been my strong point.”

“Y’don’t say.”

Frank can feel Matt’s grin against his neck, the fingers at his waistband dipping just a little lower. There’s a hardness that presses against his ass in a slow, deliberate movement. “I was thinking,” Matt says conversationally, “that we could maybe try that again, but in bed this time.”

Matt Murdock voluntarily giving up control? Frank raises an eyebrow and bites the inside of his cheek, trying to keep his heart rate steady with Matt’s cock slowly grinding against his ass. He tilts his head, Matt’s breath warm against his cheek.

“Maybe have you ride me this time,” Matt purrs into his ear.

God, maybe Frank should just take seduction tips from Matt, the master himself. His dick twitches in his sweatpants and he turns slowly, carefully, and he captures Matt’s lips with his own. “You think you can last longer than last time?”

“I seem to remember you saying something about trying to get me to come three times.”

“Let’s aim for two for now.” They’ve got another week, at least, in quarantine. They can build up to three. “You gonna fight me this time?”

Matt tilts his head so the bruises on his throat are vivid in the bright light of the neon sign in the window. “Only as much as I have to.”

Good enough. That Matt even asked for Frank to do this is… Frank’s sure there are words for it, but he’s never been very good at expressing shit like that. Instead, he smiles and kisses Matt again, hot and wet and full of purpose, full of everything neither of them can say.

Maybe they’ll get there too, someday.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [tumblr!](http://feathers-and-cigarettes.tumblr.com)


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